


Shelter

by smileykylie29



Category: Fifty Shades of Grey - E. L. James
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23887606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smileykylie29/pseuds/smileykylie29
Summary: Christian contemplates his love for Ana. And how hard it has been to put it into words.
Relationships: Christian Grey/Anastasia Steele
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	Shelter

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and obey till death do us part…" I read the words aloud, melodically as if my tone could lessen her disgust. "These vows are perfect Ana, what more could you want?"

"Oh, I don't know", she shrugged sarcastically, moving to the opposite side of my desk as if the words had put her off her seat in my lap. "Perhaps something that didn't come out of the eighteenth century. I mean honestly, Christian. Obey? Only you would expect me to stand before God and our families and promise to obey you."

I caught myself before a full smile could cross my lips and resumed the face I only save for times where I am tasked with the challenge of convincing this girl. After all, her love language is patience and while I am not a patient man, I do enjoy a challenge.

"Firstly, no. I am not such a troglodyte that I would ask that of you, thank you for the vote of confidence. However, I do believe traditional vows have a certain… je ne sais quoi." I hold my hand up in front of myself, bringing all my fingers to a point sharply, much like an Italian man would if he spoke French and was trying to convince his fiancé that they in fact did not need to write their own vows.

"And lastly, I am a firm believer in tradition and the notion that there is no point in reinventing the wheel." Ana laughed before I could finish my main line of defense. She sidestepped to the left wall of my office and gracefully gestured to the open air as if she were Vanna White revealing the word "dumbass" letter by letter. There, in the corner sat the latest miniature model of my new and improved solar-powered building plans set to be under construction later in the month.

My own personal reinvention of the wheel.

We had been at it for days. So far, Ana had been strong on recruitments. She had not only my sister but my beloved mother on my case, as well. I had heard every argument for writing our own vows I could possibly think of. And while it was not out of my wheelhouse to take the time to put into writing just exactly what this girl means to me, I was struggling with the idea of being able to keep it together while saying it in front of "God and our families" as Ana had so eloquently put it.

How could I, the most powerful man in the state of Washington put myself in a position to uncontrollably sob while I waxed poetic about how the pulse of Ana's heartbeat under my hand as we sleep keeps the nightmares away?

No, those thoughts were best left to be said out loud on our weekly date-nights, and every other day when I stick my foot in my mouth about something or another and I need back into her good graces.

A beep goes off signaling Andrea's move to transfer my calls off her holding dock, and back onto mine. Ana looks at her watch and sighs. "I hate sharing you some days." She says jokingly and begins to pack up the Tupperware containers she brought our lunch in.

I take a moment to appreciate how domestic this feels, and I think if I were to write my own vows, they would be about Ana's Tupperware containers.

Here I am, a man with all the money in the world. I could call any restaurant in Seattle and demand that lunch be brought to my downtown office on a gold-plated platter. Instead, I called my fiancé by 9 am and asked her to bring some of the leftovers from our Sunday diner that I knew she saved for me.

Because she loves me. And she knows me. And she always saves our leftovers, because she knows I lose sleep at night over hungry little boys that are sitting in cold kitchen floors. I would write about that.

After packing and repacking her bag to her satisfaction, she stands prostrate and huffs her little "time to go" breath. I stand, buttoning the top button of my jacket and follow her to the door. "Taylor and I will be there to get you by 5?" I ask in a way that might be a demand if the words were not so whipped that they octave up into a question at the end. She giggles and nods her head, letting me know just once more before she is gone that she can see straight through me.

Her nose scrunches up as I tilt my face closer towards it. I might write about her nose as well. But instead, I kiss it. Then for good measure, kiss her lips. And let her out of my office, watching her as she makes her way to the receptionist desk for her "goodbye routine" to commence.

I lean against the door frame and enjoy the view, Ana's good manners and warm heart at work before me. I hear her ask Andrea about her mother, whom I have never met. I hear mention of lip gloss and an offer for Ana to bring her "extra tube" as she has "too many for one person" and then she hugs my assistant and makes her move toward the elevator.

Before she and Sawyer can disappear behind the closing doors, she catches me. The room goes a bit blurry, and my vision makes a push-pull motion as I focus on her knowing smile.

And I think I might could write about that. About how lovely she is. About how she makes me feel lovely just by being associated with her. Before I realize what is happening, I am smiling. Then, as quickly as she came, she is gone.

The metal doors close completely, and I am left to the sound of a ringing phone and the ding of the elevator. I have noticed the shift in the room, but the handful of employees surrounding me are oblivious. They stand dumbfounded and open mouth staring at my face that once held a lovely smile but has morphed into a cold grimace within seconds.

I make eye contact with the nearest and poorest of the unfortunate souls, and I jolt my head sharply in a "whataya lookin' at" motion.

"If I am the only warm-blooded intelligence that came here willing to work today, then I would hope you people would at least have the common courtesy to not come back after your lunch break and leave the desktops and I to it!"

The open floor plan echoes back the harsh words I have just yelled, and the room becomes a flurry of motion once again. I sulk back into my office and slam the door.

Four more hours. I can surely do that. Before Ana, I would work 16-hour days as if they were nothing. Lately, eight hours away from her made me sick to my stomach.

If I were to write my own vows, I think I would dedicate a complete section to how Ana had walked into my office, grabbed my work-ethic by the hair, and whipped it back into second place quicker than I could help her up off the floor.

But I am not writing my own vows. So no, I won't be confessing that to anyone.

Days later, I sat at my desk in my home office, staring empty-minded at the wall.

At a picture of Anastasia's face to be exact. The photograph was so clear and so detailed, you could see every freckle on her delicate skin. Her beautiful teeth hidden only slightly by her full cherry-red lips. The gap between the front two teeth setting an otherwise perfectly straight set apart from the rest. Not a wrinkle marred her young face, but her smile was so large and so overpowering that it created indentions and shadows that gave me insight as to what his girl might look like once age had crawled its way into her youthful body.

I let his mind wander around the idea of being there through it all. Being there for her first grey hair. Her first laugh line that would be too stubborn to smooth away once the joke wasn't funny anymore. The fading of her bright childlike eyes. She would turn into an exquisitely beautiful old woman right before my eyes. I couldn't even begin to put into words how lucky I felt to be the man to walk with her through the years.

In fact, that is exactly what I had come to this room to do.

Put it into words.

Writing matrimonial vows, some might say. Writing your obituary is more like it.

However, my fiance had not backed down. With just days left before the wedding, Ana flounced around the apartment without a care in the world. She had written her vows to me in one sitting, days earlier. And now, she was parading around as if she had a grade-A secret in her pocket. The luck of a literary fangirl.

I, however, was stumped.

Writer's block. That's what they called it.

I suppose you had to be a writer, to begin with to experience the handicap, but if he had to give a title to my current condition, it would be writer's block.

It's not as if I couldn't talk about my love for Ana. I could do it for hours.

Anyone that knew me well, knew that the best way to get into Christian Grey's good graces would be to ask about his fiancé.

A simple "how's Ana?" It would take you a long way in my world. Even some of my employees had caught on to the trick, my weakness. I would drop whatever demanding mood I had been in and, melt. Speak about her as if she were my prized possession. Adoration beaming from every syllable.

I would be speaking of my greatest accomplishment.

Speaking of my greatest accomplishment… there she was.

The office door cracked slightly to reveal my barefoot fiancé. Clad only in one of my t-shirt, she had a large iced tea in each hand and was struggling not to spill them just walking flat-footed across the floor. She caught my eye and smiled. Continuing her balancing act all the way around my desk, and stopping at the left of my chair. She was so close; I could smell her body lotion.

"Put something down!" She demanded, giggling at having caught me daydreaming.

I reached for a coaster and hurriedly sat it on the mahogany desk in front of her. She placed my tea upon it and took a deep breath as if to say "see, didn't spill it!"

"Thank you. To what do I owe this generous visit?" I asked. Ana shrugged her shoulders and looked down at her toes, wiggling them. "I knew you were in here trying to write your vows. I could hear your gears coming off their track all the way from the kitchen." She took her foot, and placed it down on top of my shoe, turning his chair towards her just enough to take her place in my lap. "It's almost lunchtime. Do you need some brain food?"

"Are you the brain food?" I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her back further into my chest. Her glass of tea sloshed over slightly and wet her hand. "Heyyy" she pouted, leaning back up into the desk. She placed the glass on top of the paper I had been attempting to write on.

"Those are my vows you're using as a coaster, there love," I said with mock irritation. "Oh yeah?" she raised her glass once more and scanned the page. "Let's see what we've got so far."

The printer paper was corner dog eared at the top and had a few scratches and ink circles I had made, under the impression that if I found the perfect pen to write with, the words would just magically appear.

The only word that had appeared, however, was written in the top left corner.

"Anastasia…." Ana said, sweetly. "well, it's short and sweet. Isn't it?"

"I'm… finding it difficult." I lifted my head back up to stare at the photograph. Choosing to look at the two-dimensional version, instead of meeting the eyes of the real thing in my lap.

Ana sighed and ran her hand across the stubble on my chin. "What are you finding so difficult about it? Are you afraid I won't like what you have to say?" she asked, sweetly.

I chuckled at the idea that she thought he might use my wedding vows as the last commandment.

After a beat, Ana decided her otherwise expressive man was not going to explain himself.

"Do you want to know how I thought of what to write?" she began. After a nod from me, she continued. "I thought of our life together. I thought of what we'd already been through, and what we'd face in the future. And from there, I made a list of all the things about yourself within our relationship that I know that your proud of. Like how well you take care of me. How you provide for us, how you might be some big ol' meanie to the rest of the world, but how you're my big softie, and you're proud of it. And then made a separate list of all the things about me, that I know that you're proud of. Like how bad I want to take care of you, bake you things, and trim your hair. Like how I'd trust you with my life, and even though sometimes I might hate it, I always want your input on every decision I make." Ana leaned further back into my chest.

"And then I wrote my vows. My vows just to you. As if you'd be the only one to ever hear them. I didn't think about our family, and friends hearing what I'll say to you. I didn't think about the minister judging what I deem to be important between us. I definitely didn't think about whether what I was writing would make me cry or not, because as sure as I'm breathing, I know that I'll cry when I say them on our wedding day. But I don't care about all of that. Because what I've written… my vows to you. I mean them, Christian. And you need to hear them. And there won't ever be a time when I will allow something else, or someone else outweighs your need for me."

"And you need to hear mine?" I asked quietly.

Ana shook her head. "Not to know how much you love me. But yes, in a way I think I do need to hear them."

I leaned my head into the back of Ana's neck. Just smelling her familiar scent at first, but eventually tilting my head to kiss her hairline.

"Then far be it for me to ever let this outweigh your needs for me."

I did not write my vows that day. Instead, Ana and I became a bit too distracted with each other to do any real work. But after I made love to my fiancé… as I laid there naked and panting. I thought about what it really means to love someone so much you allow yourself to be this way. Allow yourself to show them the naked truths of your spirit. The ugly parts. The hidden, and secretive parts. Your fears. What it really means to love someone so much you show them your shame. And what it really means for them to take that shame and make love to it.

When I begin to write my vows, I might could write about that.


End file.
